Loves Me, Loves Me Not
by PixiePie12
Summary: England has never known love, at least, not the kind he has for America. But does America love him? Or does he not? A day spent reminiscing about America ends with a little surprise for England. USUK, mild yaoi.


Loves Me, Loves Me Not

Let's all face it. He was awful at making friends. And when it came to lovers, well, it was even worse there. He had tried and tried to get America's attention over and over again but each time had failed. His brothers, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, always made fun of the youngest Kirkland; saying how they were all straight while he was as straight as a roundabout. Well so what if he was gay for America? He didn't care. It was France's fault really that he was gay in the first place, what with his gayness and whatnot and his constant flirting. Not to mention how much time France spent with him as children, new born countries fighting for a good place in the world. So it was France's fault he was gay, but that didn't matter to him. All England wanted was for America to be his.

_Loves me…  
_

As he turned the corner, England saw America in France's rose garden, picking red and blue roses. More often than not he would prick his fingers on the thorns, but muttering under his breath that it'd be "Well worth it in the end". England frowned, turning on his heel and leaving the American to his business, not wanting to disturb him. Despite their fighting and disagreements, England didn't hate America. How could he? After all, England was a vital part of America's heritage because of all the food imports from England as well as inventions and habits. But America wasn't gay. At least, England didn't think so. The way he acted was, for an American, perfectly fine but to England it seemed like he was either trying to deny something or was trying to show something. And that made England think more about him. About those sapphire-blue eyes. About that cute curl of hair… about that smile…

_Loves me not…  
_

England shook his head quickly, backing around the corner fast to get away from America. He couldn't. Just couldn't. America wasn't the same as him. He just wasn't. He wasn't gay at all. And England knew this in his heart that America would never love him, not in the same way. England loved America, with all his heart, but knew that America would never belong to him. Would never love him. Ever. It hurt England more than a rose's thorns, more than a bullet of a gun, more than a sword's blade. Whatever England felt for America wouldn't be returned. If he ever told America about how he felt, America would rip his heart from his chest again; just like he did all those years ago during their war. The War of Independence. That nearly killed England.

"You were so great..."

America had said as England knelt in the mud and rain, crying, as he lost everything that was important to him. Everything that kept him going. Dark thoughts returned to the nation's mind and he forced them away quickly, not wishing to endure another nightmare.

_Loves me…  
_

A brief smile was shared across England's face, remembering the time when America had dragged England to watch a scary movie with him because he couldn't handle it. The aftermath was hilarious. England had bought America popcorn and a Coke after the film, along with a new set of pants, and had played the Slenderman sound when it was a 'Game Over' scenario. America nearly broke down in public. Of course, America had never forgiven him for that but it was well worth it. But another better time they had shared was when America had gotten England for the Allies' 'Secret Santa'. A necklace with a little totem of an eagle with a rose held in its beak was England's gift to America, the American loving it as he hung it around his neck with pride. America's gift to England? Well, a poster depicting England's favourite band, The Beatles, visiting America on their tour.

"_How did you know?"_

"_Dude, you ranted to me one night when I was a kid 'bout them! Course I know!"_

Good times.

_Loves me not…  
_

England sighed as he trudged home in the rain, absently picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. Dark thoughts continued to fill his mind as he walked. All the times America had hurt him, not just physically, but emotionally. The amount of times America had said 'I hate you' and 'I never wanna see you again!' to England had scarred him, proof of how America hated him. Proof of how America wasn't gay for England despite what others said. England winced as another hurtful phrase from America passed through his mind, the scene replaying as if it were yesterday. Slowly, England unlocked the door to his house and entered, taking off his dripping wet jacket and hanging it up, unaware of the fact that he'd been followed.

'_I need a cup of tea…'_ he thought, making his way to the kitchen, _'Better yet, I need America…'  
_

_Loves me…  
_

Upon entering the kitchen, England smiled slightly again. He remembered the time when America had tried to teach him to cook, failing badly when it ended with an explosion of a chocolate cake in the oven. Both countries had been covered in chocolate mix and all because America had put too much baking powder into the mix. But instead of freaking out and shouting, England had laughed with America as they cleaned themselves up. That had been one of the few times they'd laughed like that together. Now it was only bittersweet laughs that they shared. But even then, they weren't even remotely happy. England shook his head again, pouring himself a cup of tea and sat down at the table, jumping when he thought he'd heard someone coming in through the front door.

"No one there, Arthur, you're imagining things again…" He muttered to himself, sipping at his tea absently as he flicked through the newspaper in front of him. A thud echoed through the house, followed by a yelp of pain, and England jumped, looking up sharply from the paper.

"Who's there? Show yourself! Or be ready for a stone thrashing!" He barked, setting his tea down and standing, giving his usual threat for intruders. Arming himself with a cricket bat leant against the hallway wall, he slowly moved into the living room where the thud had come from. The door was already open, but England was sure he had closed it. Frowning, he moved into the room, cricket bat poised for attack or defence. Whichever came first.

A figure was stood in the room, rubbing their head as they dusted themselves down. The front door had been opened, for the window was still locked as England had left it.

"Ow… I swear this floor is marble or something…" The figure replied, a familiar American twang to the accent. England stopped and straightened.

"America?" He said slowly, not believing this for a second. The figure jumped, spinning around on his heel and facing England, a furious blush in his cheeks as he held a small bunch of red and blue roses.

"Oh… Hey Britain!" America said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he approached the smaller nation.

"W…. W… How the bloody hell did you get in my house?!" England said, lowering the cricket bat as soon as he saw America's face, "And why are you holding roses?" America's cheeks flushed a deep red.

"I… uh… came to see you…" He half-mumbled, "You looked pretty depressed in the meeting today even though I didn't say much… You okay?" England blinked, slowly stopping in front of the taller nation.

"I'm… fine…"

"You sure? Cos I was thinkin' bout you and I kinda got worried…" America said, "Anyway, I… uh… got these for you…" He held out the small bunch of roses to England, creating a fresh blush on both nations' cheeks.

"T… Thank you… America…" England said numbly, taking the roses and trying to snap out of it. It was then that he got the shock and surprise of a lifetime. America moved quickly, pinning England against the wall by his shoulders, his crotch dangerously close to England's.

"What are you doing?!" England said, half panicking, half getting flustered being this close to his crush.

"Listen dude, there's somethin' I've wanted to tell you for a long time but I haven't been able to cos I needed to prove it to myself that it was true!" America paused for breath before delivering his words.

"I love you, Arthur."

England's world slowed down as his heart stopped. Had America really said that? Or was he just messing around? But the look in America's sapphire eyes behind the glasses he didn't even need said everything. It was true. England's heart skipped a beat as he set the roses down on the arm of the armchair, a blush tinting his cheeks.

"I love you too, Alfred." England said, his eyes doubling in size as America leaned forwards, his strong arms still holding England in place, and kissed him.

_Loves me..._


End file.
